Lethal
by Crystal Draculura Bloodsucker
Summary: When Sonic is entrusted with a package for Shadow, his curiosity gets the better of him and he opens it to find a book written by the black hedgehog himself. Curious about what he may have written, Sonic begins to read it. He's instantly hooked after the first chapter, but what he may not realize is that most of the characters in it may have more meaning to them than he expects.
1. 1: Sonic World

**A/N: Chapters will be named based on what world they take place in.**

**Chapter 1: Sonic World**

It was a warm and beautiful summer day on Mobias. Sonic was out, running a muck as usual, enjoying the cool summer breeze howling through his quills. He loved days like this. Days where it was as beautiful as it ever could be. The peace and tranquility that came with a summer day.

Daydreaming, Sonic closed his eyes and just relished in the cool breeze. It was only for a second, but a second was all it took.

Suddenly, Sonic collided harshly into something solid, grunting at the unexpected impact. He tumbled for a bit, bringing the thing he collided into with him. Both were grunting in pain when they finally stopped, Sonic flat on his back while the thing had him pinned on top.

Groaning, Sonic opened his eyes, and he froze when his green eyes came into contact with red ones. There was only one person he knew who had red eyes.

"S-Shadow!"

"Faker."

"I-I'm sorry! Real sorry! I didn't mean to run into you! I-I should've been paying attention!"

"Yes, you should have."

Sonic's ears lowered to his head as he turned his gaze away. He was highly embarrassed, not only because he had ran into his rival and pissed him off, but also because currently, his crush was laying on top of him.

"D-Do you mind, getting up?" He asked sheepishly, a dark blush adorning his cheeks.

Shadow looked down between them and he blushed too, quickly getting off of the blue hedgehog. He stood up and dusted himself off, grumbling to himself before reaching a hand out to the blue one who was still on the ground.

Sonic stared at Shadow's hand in confusion. Shadow never helped him with anything unless it had something to do with the whole world, so it was kinda odd for him to offer help with standing up.

"Well, are you gonna take it or just lay there staring at it all day?" Shadow growled in annoyance.

Sonic nodded and quickly grabbed Shadow's hand, allowing the ebony hedgehog to pull him up.

"Thanks Shads." He said to him once he was on his own two feet.

"Yeah, whatever." Shadow humphed. "And don't call me Shads."

Sonic rolled his eyes before looking away, choosing a direction to run off too. Normally, he would ask Shadow if he wanted to race, it was his favorite thing to do with his crush, but Shadow was already pissed enough and most likely wouldn't agree.

"Well, I'll see you later I guess." He said to him. "Sorry again for running into you. Bye."

"Wait."

Sonic was shocked when he felt Shadow grab his wrist, preventing him from leaving. He turned around to look at him, confusion clear on his face. Shadow saw this confusion and he sighed.

"Listen, um… to tell the truth I was… actually looking for you."

Sonic blinked in surprise. Why would Shadow be looking for him?

"Frank it this was not my idea but Rouge's, but I don't know who else to ask." The ebony hedgehog rolled his eyes. "I need a favor from you."

"...What do you need?"

"Team Dark has been called out on a mission that might keep us away for a whole week, maybe even longer. Rouge wants somebody watching the house while we're gone and I have a package coming in that I can't miss."

"Why don't you get one of our other friends to do it? Why me?"

"Because Silver and Blaze are in their dimension, Knuckles won't leave that damn emerald for anything, Vanilla has to take care of Cream, and both the fox and Rose are too young to sign for the package, it has to be at least a young adult."

"... What kind of package is this?"

"It doesn't concern you. Will you do it or not?"

"... Sure Shads, I can handle that."

Shadow nodded and let go of Sonic's wrist before walking away.

"Thank you." He said, making the blue hedgehog beam with pride. "And don't call me Shads!"


	2. 2: Sonic World

**Chapter 2: Sonic World**

The next day, Sonic was just packing the last thing he needed into his bag before a knock came from the front door. He heard Tails open it from downstairs before he called up to him.

"Sonic! Shadow's here!"

"Alright, I'll be down in a minute!"

Sonic stuffed the book he was currently reading into his bag and zipped it up. He threw it over his shoulder and left his room, running downstairs to a black and red hedgehog who was waiting impatiently by the door.

"I told you to be ready when I got here." He frowned in disapproval.

"I am ready." Sonic rolled his eyes. "What, you so impatient you couldn't wait 5 seconds?"

"You're one to talk." Shadow growled then huffed. "Come on, let's go."

"Bye Sonic!" Tails called from the kitchen. "Don't break anything."

"I won't Tails. Later buddy!"

Shadow rolled his eyes and took off in the direction of the house he shared with Rouge and Omega, Sonic following close behind. On the way there, Shadow briefed him on some rules.

"Rouge's room is absolutely off limits, pardon by her rule." He started. "You're welcome to sleep in my room, just don't make a mess of it and stay out of my personal stuff. Same goes for the kitchen. You can help yourself, just don't make a mess, and if you do, please have the courtesy to clean it up. If anything happens, there's an emergency number going straight to Omega that you can call hanging on the refrigerator. And when my package comes in, just sign for it and leave it on my desk. By any means DO NOT OPEN IT! I'm not ready to share what should be inside it yet."

"Got it, sign but don't open." Sonic nodded as they both skidded to a stop by the front door of the two story white house.

"If you can follow those rules, you should be good to go." Shadow nodded, opening the door and letting Sonic step in before walking in himself. Once inside, they were immediately greeted by Rouge and Omega.

"Finally, you're here." Rouge sighed in exasperation.

"It was only 3 minutes, Rouge." Shadow rolled his eyes.

"Three minutes too long." Rouge frowned. "We need to head out, quick, or Towers' will have both our asses."

Quickly, she turned her attention to Sonic.

"Did he brief you on the rules?" She asked him.

"Yes."

"Did he tell you about the package?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you about Wilfred?"

"Huh?"

An audible slap came from Shadow as he facepalmed himself.

"Dammit, I knew I was forgetting something!" He hissed at himself.

"How do you forget to tell him about Wilfred?" Rouge scolded him.

"Look, it just slipped my mind, alright. It's not like we actually own him."

"Yeah, not yet."

"I'm sorry," Sonic quickly intervened. "But, who's Wilfred?"

Team Dark looked to each other in nervousness before Shadow sighed.

"There's a strange looking stray cat that has taken a liking to our house." He explained. "He comes around so often, we've… taken a bit of a liking to him. We often leave a bowl of cat food out on the back porch for him."

"And you've named him?" Sonic frowned in thought.

"Yes, his name is Wilfred." Shadow nodded.

"We're hoping to gain his trust enough to let him into the house." Rouge added. "We kinda wanna own him."

"Until then, we just feed him." Omega added.

"He's a bit weird looking but he's a sweet thing." Shadow nodded. "Think you can handle filling the bowl outside when he comes around?"

"Of course, Shadow, just tell me where the cat food is."

"It's under the sink. There's a scoop in the bag. One scoop should be enough, we don't want to overfeed him."

"Of course, Shadow. But how will I know the cat is Wilfred?"

Shadow chuckled.

"Heh, trust me, you'll know when you see him. That and plus you'll know he's here when you hear him meowing. He's pretty loud for a small thing."

"Now if everything has been discussed, I must inform that we leave now." Omega urged.

"Right, come on you two." Rouge nodded, walking out the door, followed by the robot. "Bye Sonic, thanks again!"

"No problem!" Sonic called back.

"Sonic." Sonic turned his attention to Shadow, surprised to hear him call him by his name. "Thanks again. And remember what I said."

"Don't worry, Shads. You can count on me."


	3. 3: Sonic World

**Chapter 3: Sonic World**

The first day in the Dark house was pretty much uneventful.

Sonic had made himself some dinner, cleaning up after himself like Shadow had asked, read his book for a few hours, and had gone to bed, taking Shadow's offer to sleep in his room while he was there.

There was no sign of Wilfred the stray cat or a delivery truck with Shadow's package.

However, the next day, that had changed.

Sonic was in the middle of eating breakfast, reading his book once more when he heard scratching and meowing coming from the backdoor.

At first, he was confused, until he remembered Shadow saying that Wilfred would often meow to let them know that he was around, waiting for his food.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming." Sonic chuckled as he quickly dogeared his page and got up, quickly making his way to the backdoor as the cat continued to meow.

When Sonic opened the backdoor and looked down at the cat, he couldn't believe his eyes. Shadow wasn't kidding when he said Wilfred was a little weird looking.

The cat was a fluffy grey and white Persian chinchilla. His green eyes were large and looked ready to pop out of his skull. The rim around his eyes were black as if he was wearing eyeliner, and he had a bit of an underbite, three of his bottom teeth sticking out over his top lip.

Sonic could only ask himself one question… HOW COULD SOMETHING SO UGLY LOOK SO CUTE AT THE SAME TIME?!!!

"Aww! Hello there Wilfred!" He gave a tiny squeal at the adorableness in front of him. "Are you hungry, buddy?"

The cat gave a small meow and Sonic's heart immediately melted at the sound. No wonder why Shadow and Rouge were trying to adopt this little ball of fluff.

Sonic quickly found Wilfred's bowl and ran back to the kitchen to fill it with cat food, completely forgetting about his own bowl of mini wheat cereal that was most likely soggy now. After filling the bowl with a single scoop like Shadow had instructed he ran back outside and sat the bowl down. He sat down and watched as the cat ate from the bowl slowly, taking his time instead of rushing to eat like any other stray.

"Shadow and Rouge sure have been keeping you well fed." Sonic chuckled, reaching out and gently petting the cat, earning a deep purr. "You seem so docile and domesticated. I wonder why you won't come inside."

For the rest of the day, Sonic spent playing with Wilfred. It was Sunday, so no package was coming in today. Sonic spent the whole day picking out different cat toys from the water seal tight box that was sitting next to the backdoor. As he was playing with Wilfred, he began to think.

'Shadow and Rouge have obviously been trying really hard to get him into the house.' He thought. 'It's obvious that they want to adopt him. They've already named him, they're feeding him, and they have toys for him to play with, but he just won't come inside.'

Suddenly, Sonic had an idea.

'I'm gonna get him inside for them. Surely I can do it. They'll be so excited when they come home and see that they're little kitty is finally inside. And I think I know just how to do it too. I'll need Tails' help, but this'll be easy.'

**…**

The next day after Sonic had his breakfast and had fed Wilfred outside, he called Tails.

"_Hello?_" The kitsune answered after the second ring.

"Hey Tails, it's Sonic."

"_Sonic? What's up? Is everything alright?_"

"Everything's fine Tails, the house is still clean and intact. I haven't done anything to burn it down yet."

"_You shouldn't burn it down at all._"

"It was a figure of speech." Sonic chuckled. "Anyways, I'm calling because I need your help with something."

"_What is it?_"

"Come over by the house, and bring your toolkit, I'll explain when you get here."

With that, Sonic hung up the phone and waited for his little buddy to get there.

**…**

"That's a cat?" Tails asked in awe as he watched his older hedgehog brother, who was currently on the ground, stroking Wilfred.

"Yeah, isn't he cute?" Sonic smiled cheekily. "Albeit he's a little ugly, but it's a cute ugly."

"I guess." Tails shrugged. "So, Shadow and Rouge have been trying to adopt him?"

"Yeah, they have, but he won't come into the house for some reason. I think it's because he's not used to being indoors."

"So what do you plan to do?"

"I'm thinking a cat door on the backdoor, collar operated only of course to keep all other animals out."

"That's why you told me to bring my toolkit. To help you build it."

"Yeah," Sonic nodded as he fully stood up. "Think you can do it, little buddy?"

"Just give me about 2 hours and I'll have both the door and the collar ready."

"Thanks Tails, I owe you."

"In the meantime, why don't you run a quick stop at the pet shop to get all the necessary needs of owning a cat."

"I can't Tails, I have to stay here in case Shadow's package arrives."

"Don't worry, I'll call you if it gets here before you do."

"... Fine, but I have to be the one to sign for it, so when they get here, stall them."

"No problem Sonic. See you later."

"Be back soon Tails."


	4. 4: Sonic World

**Chapter 4: Sonic World**

Sonic was just leaving the pet store with the necessary supplies needed to take care of a cat.

Cat brush, claw clippers, litter box, kitty litter, litter scooper, cat carrier for trips, and new toys and treats. He also purchased flea and tick shampoo and a flea collar for just in case.

After all, Wilfred was a stray.

As he was leaving the pet store, he got a call on his cell phone.

"Hello?" He answered the phone.

"Sonic, it's Tails."

"Hey little buddy. What's up?"

"Are you on your way back?"

"Yeah, I just finished shopping. I'm on my way back now."

"Good, cause Shadow's package is here and the guy says he needs someone to sign for it."

"Shoot." Sonic hissed. "Alright, I'm on my way. I'll be there in a flash."

"Alright, I'll let him know." And with that, Tails hung up.

Sonic hung up as well and began running back to the Dark house. It only took him a couple minutes to reach it, but when he did he sighed in relief to see that the delivery truck was still there. He slowed down to a walk and went up to the man with Shadow's package.

"Excuse me?"

"Ah, Sonic the Hedgehog." The mailman turned around and nodded at him. "I have a package for Shadow the Hedgehog right here."

"Yes, he informed me that he had a package coming in." Sonic nodded. "He's not here right now, but he entrusted me to sign for it."

"That's fine by me as long as it's a young adult or older." The man pulled out a clipboard and pen and held it out. "Just sign right at the bottom."

Sonic took the pen and signed his name at the bottom of the clipboard. He then gave it back to the man, who took it and gave him a small rectangular package. "Have a nice day."

"You too sir." Sonic nodded and went into the house as the delivery truck drove away. "Thanks for stalling him, Tails."

"No problem." Tails said from the new cat door as he held a collar up to it, testing the lock. "What is it, anyway?"

"I don't know. Shadow didn't tell me. And he doesn't want me to open it either." Sonic shrugged, then looked at the cat door and smiled. "Done with them already?"

"Yeah, it was pretty easy. Child's play, even." Tails chuckled as he stood up and went to Sonic, handing him the collar. "The cat door is collar operated, just like you suggested. Wilfred should be able to come and go as he please. I also put a tag on it with his name and Rouge's contact information."

"Thanks Tails." The hedgehog said as he took the collar. "I owe you buddy."

"Heh, don't thank me yet until he actually comes in." Tails smirked. "I'm gonna head out now. I'll see you later, Sonic."

"See yah buddy." Sonic waved as Tails left the house. "Now to get this stuff set up."

After putting Shadow's package on his desk like he asked, Sonic went around the house and set up the new cat stuff. After he did so, he looked outside, but Wilfred was nowhere to be found.

"Huh, guess he ran off." He said to himself, shrugging his shoulders as he closed the doors again. "Oh well, I'll try again when he comes back."

He went to the kitchen and made himself some lunch. As he was eating, he pulled his book back out and started reading it.

'_Asylum._' He thought. '_Hard to believe the pictures in here are real._'

He quickly finished his food and cleaned the kitchen up a bit before he went back to Shadow's bedroom and laid on the bed to keep reading. Two and a half hours later, he didn't realize that he was reaching the end until he did.

"Aw man, it's over." He grumbled to himself as he closed the book. "Man, I wish I had _Sanctum_."

He set the book down and laid there on Shadow's bed, wondering what to do now. He could go for a run, but he honestly didn't want to in case Wilfred came back, or if someone tried to break in. He could watch some tv, but he gets bored of it easily. He's looked through the books Shadow has before, but none of them seemed to really catch his interest. And of course, he wasn't allowed in Rouge's room, he most likely wouldn't find anything interesting in it anyway.

He sighed and turned to lay on his side. As he did so, his attention was caught on the package on Shadow's desk. He was extremely curious to look inside. It was small and rectangular. Tape held the box closed at the top. There wasn't much else besides the address with Shadow's name on it.

"Maybe just one little peek wouldn't hurt." He decided, his curiosity getting the better of him again.

He got up from the bed and went over to the small box. He picked it up and lightly shook it against his ear. Whatever was inside sounded heavy, but light at the same time. He could hear something else shifting around inside, like a piece of paper of some sorts. He took the box over to the bed and sat down, nervously picking at the tape before carefully peeling it off, being careful not to rip the tape or the cardboard. Once he had it off enough, he opened the flaps and peeked inside.

The first thing he saw was the piece of paper, a receipt by the looks of it. Curious, he grabbed the paper and pulled it out, looking at it carefully.

_Purchase: Lethal_

_Price: $15.00_

_Total cost: $15.00_

_Area of Purchase: Lulu, self-publishing_

'_Self-publishing?_' Sonic thought before looking back in the box.

In the box was a book. A rather thick hardcover book. The cover had a picture of a boat, docked by a foggy environment, with a bloody handprint running down the side. The title was written over the boat in faded letters spelling LETHAL. At the top, plain as day in big brown letters, Shadow's name was written as the author.

'_Shadow wrote a book?_'

His curiosity growing, Sonic carefully pulled the book out of the box and flipped it over, reading the summary.

_When her four year old daughter informs her a sick man is in their yard, Azul Spinner rushes out to help him. But that "sick" man turns out to be Umbra Kintobor, the man accused of murdering seven people the night before. Dangerous, desperate, and armed, he promises Azul that she and her daughter won't be hurt as long as she does everything he asks. She has no choice but to accept him at his word._

_Umbra claims that her beloved late husband possessed something extremely valuable: a treasure that places Azul and her daughter in grave danger. He's there to retrieve it at any cost._

_Azul soon discovers that even her friends can't be trusted. From the FBI offices of Washington, D.C. to a rundown shrimp boat in coastal Louisiana, Umbra and Azul run for their lives from the very people sworn to protect them, and unravel a web of corruption and depravity that threatens to destroy them . . . and the fabric of society._

"This sounds… interesting." Sonic smiled, wagging his tail a bit. He looked back at the book he left on the bedside table, finished with it, then back at the book in his hands, brand new with untouched pages.

An enthusiastic reader, Sonic's curiosity wanted him to read what his ebony crush had written, but he knew that if he tampered anymore with the book, Shadow would know that he had been in it.

"Maybe… maybe just one chapter." He decided, going over to the bed and opening the book to the first chapter.


	5. 5: Lethal: 1

**Chapter 5: Lethal, Part 1**

"Mommy?"

"Hmm?"

"Mommy?"

"Hmm?"

"There's a man in the yard."

"What's that?"

The four-year-old came to stand at the corner of the kitchen table and gazed yearningly at the frosting her blue hedgehog mother was applying to the top of the cupcake. "Can I have some, Mommy?"

"May I have some. When I'm done, you can lick the bowl."

"You made chocolate."

"Because chocolate is your favorite, and you're my favorite girl," she said, giving the child a wink. "And," she added, drawing out the word, "I've got sprinkles to add as soon as I'm finished with the icing."

Maria beamed, then her face puckered with concern. "He's sick."

"Who's sick?"

"The man."

"What man?"

"In the yard."

Maria's statements finally penetrated that innate mom-screen that filtered out unimportant chatter. "There's really a man outside?" Azul placed the iced cupcake on the platter, returned the spatula to the bowl of frosting, and absently wiped her hands on a dishtowel as she stepped around the child.

"He's lying down because he's sick."

Maria trailed her mother as she made her way from kitchen to living room. Azul looked through the front window, turning her head from one side to the other, but all she saw was the lawn of St. Augustine grass sloping gradually down to the dock.

Beyond the dock's weathered wood planks the waters of the bayou moved indolently, a dragonfly skimming the surface and causing an occasional ripple. The stray cat, who refused to take Azul seriously when she told him that this was not his home, was stalking unseen prey in her bed of brightly colored zinnias.

"Mary, there's not—"

"By the bush with the white flowers," Maria said stubbornly. "I saw him through the window in my room."

Azul went to the door, unlocked it, slid the bolt, stepped out onto the porch, and looked in the direction of the rose of Sharon shrub.

And there he was, a black and red hedgehog, lying facedown, partially on his left side, his face turned away from her, his left arm outstretched above his head. He lay motionless. Azul didn't even detect movement of his rib cage to indicate that he was breathing.

Quickly she turned and gently pushed Maria back through the door. "Sweetie, go into Mommy's bedroom. My phone is on the nightstand. Bring it to me, please." Not wanting to frighten her daughter, she kept her voice as calm as possible, but hurriedly took the steps down off the porch and ran across the dewy grass toward the prone figure.

When she got closer, she saw that his clothing was filthy, torn in places, and bloodstained. There were smears of blood on the exposed skin of his outstretched arm and hand. A clot of it had matted a whorl of red striped quills on the crown of his head.

Azul knelt down and touched his shoulder. When he moaned, she exhaled with relief. "Sir? Can you hear me? You're hurt. I'll call for help."

He sprang up so quickly she didn't even have time to recoil, much less to defend herself. He struck with lightning speed and precision. His left hand shot out and closed around the back of her neck, while with his right hand he

jammed the short, blunt barrel of a handgun into the slight depression where her ribs met. He aimed it upward and to the left, directly in line with her heart, which had ballooned with fright.

"Who else is here?"

Her vocal cords were frozen with fear; she couldn't speak.

He squeezed the back of her neck and repeated with sinister emphasis, "Who else is here?"

It took several tries before she was able to stammer, "My… my dau—"

"Anybody besides the kid?"

She shook her head. Or tried. He had a death grip on the back of her neck. She could feel the pressure of each individual finger.

His red eyes cut like lasers. "If you're lying to me…"

He didn't even have to complete the threat to coax a whimper from her. "I'm not lying. I swear. We're alone. Don't hurt us. My daughter… she's only four years old. Don't hurt her. I'll do whatever you say, just don't—"

"Mommy?"

Azul's heart clenched, and she made a feeble squeaking sound, like that of a helplessly trapped animal. Because she still couldn't turn her head, she shifted only her eyes toward Maria. The human girl she and her husband had adopted was several yards away, standing in her endearingly duck-kneed stance, blonde curls wreathing her sweet face, chubby toes peeking out from beneath the pink silk flower petals that decorated her sandals. She was clutching the cell phone, her expression apprehensive.

Azul was engulfed with love. She wondered if this would be the last time she would see Maria healthy and whole and untouched. The thought was so horrible, it brought tears to her eyes, which, for her child's sake, she rapidly blinked away.

She didn't realize her teeth were chattering until she tried to speak. She managed to say, "It's okay, sweetheart." Her eyes shifted back to the face of the man who was only a trigger pull away from blowing her heart to smithereens. Maria would be left alone, and terrified, and at his mercy.

Please. Azul's eyes silently implored him. Then she whispered, "I beg you."

Those hard, cold eyes magnetized hers as he gradually eased the pistol away from her. He lowered it to the ground, placing it behind his thigh where Maria couldn't see it. But the implicit threat remained.

He removed his hand from around Azul's neck and turned his head toward Maria. "Hi."

He didn't smile when he said it. Faint lines formed parentheses on either side of his mouth, but Azul didn't think they had been grooved there by smiling.

Maria regarded him shyly and dug the toe of her sandal into the thick grass. "Hello."

He extended his hand. "Give me the phone."

She didn't move, and when he snapped the fingers of his outstretched hand, she mumbled, "You didn't say please."

Please appeared to be a foreign concept to him. But after a moment, he said, "Please."

Maria took a step toward him, then drew up short and looked at Azul, seeking permission. Although Azul's lips were trembling almost uncontrollably, she managed to form a semblance of a smile. "It's okay, sweetie. Give him the phone."

Maria bashfully closed the distance between them. When she was within touching distance, she leaned far forward and dropped the phone into his palm.

His blood-smeared hand closed around it. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Are you gonna call Grandpa?"

His eyes shifted to Azul. "Grandpa?"

"He's coming for supper tonight," Maria announced happily.

Holding Azul's stare, the man drawled, "Is that right?"

"Do you like pizza?"

"Pizza?" He looked back at Maria. "Yeah. Sure."

"Mommy said I can have pizza for supper because it's a party."

"Huh." He slid Azul's cell phone into the front pocket of his dirty jeans, then encircled her biceps with his free hand and pulled her up as he stood. "Looks like I got here just in time, then. Let's go inside. You can tell me all

about tonight's party." Keeping a grip on Azul's arm, he propelled her toward the house. Her legs were so shaky they barely supported her as she took those first few stumbling steps. Maria got distracted by the cat. She chased after him, calling, "Here, kitty," as he slunk into a hedge on the far side of the yard.

As soon as Maria was out of earshot, Azul said, "I've got some money. Not much, a couple hundred dollars maybe. A few pieces of jewelry. You can take anything I own. Just please don't hurt my daughter."

And all the time she was babbling, she was scanning the yard in frantic search of something she could use as a weapon. The water hose wound up on its spool at the edge of the deck? The pot of geraniums on the bottom step? One of the bricks embedded in the ground, lining the flower bed?

She would never get to one of them in time, even if she could wrench herself from his grasp, which she knew from the strength of it would be difficult if not impossible. And in the process of a struggle, he would simply shoot her. Then he'd be left to do with Maria what he would. Thoughts of that brought bile to her throat

"Where's your boat?"

She turned her head and looked at him blankly.

Impatiently, he hitched his chin toward the empty dock. "Who's got the boat out?"

"I don't have a boat."

"Don't bullshit me."

"I sold the boat when… A couple of years ago."

He seemed to weigh her honesty, then asked, "Where's your car?"

"Parked in front."

"Keys in it?"

She hesitated, but when he increased the pressure of his grip, she shook her head. "Inside. On a wall hook by the kitchen door."

He started up the steps of the porch, pushing her along in front of him. She felt the pistol bumping against her spine. She turned her head, about to call out to Maria, but he said, "Leave her for now."

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, first…" he said, opening the door and pushing her inside ahead of him. "I'm going to make sure you aren't lying to me about anyone else being here. And then… we'll see."

She could feel the tension in him as he propelled her from the empty living room then down the short hallway toward the bedrooms. "There's no one here except Maria and me."

He gave the door of Maria's bedroom a push with the barrel of the pistol. The door swung open to a panorama of pink. No one was lying in wait. Still mistrustful, he crossed the room in two wide strides and yanked open the closet door. Satisfied that no one was hiding inside it, he gave Azul a shove back into the hall and toward the second bedroom.

As they approached, he growled close to her ear, "If there's someone in here, I shoot you first. Got it?" He hesitated as though giving her a chance to change her claim that she was alone, but when she remained silent, he kicked the door open with the toe of his boot, sending it crashing against the adjacent wall.

Her bedroom looked ironically, almost mockingly, serene. Sunlight coming through the shutters painted stripes on the hardwood floor, the white quilted comforter, the pale gray walls. The ceiling fan caused dust motes to dance in the slanted beams of light. He shoved her toward the closet and ordered her to open the door. He relaxed only marginally when he glanced into the connecting bathroom and discovered it also empty.

He faced her squarely. "Where's your gun?"

"Gun?"

"You have one somewhere."

"No I don't."

His eyes narrowed.

"I swear," she said.

"Which side of the bed do you sleep on?"

"What? Why?"

He didn't repeat the question, just continued to stare at her until she pointed. "The right."

Backing away from her, he moved to the nightstand on the right side of the bed and checked the drawer. Inside were a flashlight and a paperback novel but no lethal weapon. Then to her shock, he shoved the mattress, linens and all, off the bed far enough for him to search beneath it, finding nothing except

the box spring.

He motioned with his chin for her to lead him from the room. They returned to the living room and went from there into the kitchen, where his eyes darted from point to point, taking it all in. His gaze lit on the wall hook with her car keys hanging from it.

When she saw his notice, she said, "Take the car. Just go."

Ignoring that, he asked, "What's in there?"

"Laundry room."

He went to that door and opened it. Washing machine and clothes dryer. Ironing board folded into a recession in the wall. A rack on which she dried her delicates, some of which were hanging there now. An array of lace in

pastels. One black bra.

When he came back around, those ruby eyes moved over her in a way that made her face turn hot even as her torso became cold and clammy with dread.

He took a step toward her; she took a corresponding step back, a normal response to mortal danger, which is what he posed to her. She didn't delude herself into believing otherwise.

His entire aspect was menacing, starting with his burning eyes and the pronounced bone structure of his face. He was tall and lean, but the skin and fur on his arms was stretched over muscles that looked as taut as whipcord. The backs of his hands were bumpy with strong veins. His clothes and quills had snagged natural debris—twigs, sprigs of moss, small leaves. He seemed indifferent to all that, just as he did to the mud caked on his boots and the legs of his jeans. He smelled of the swamp, of sweat, of danger.

In the silence, she could hear his breathing. She could hear her own heartbeat. She was his sole focus, and that terrified her.

Overpowering him would be impossible, especially since one jerk of his index finger would fire a bullet straight into her. He stood between her and the drawer where butcher knives were stored. On the counter was the coffee pot, still half filled with this morning's brew, still hot enough to scald him. But in order to reach either it or the knives, she would have to get past him, and that didn't seem likely. She doubted she could outrun him, but even if she could make it beyond the door and escape, she wouldn't leave Maria behind.

Reason or persuasion seemed the only options open to her.

"I've answered all your questions truthfully, haven't I?" she said, her voice low and tremulous. "I've offered to give you my money and whatever valuables—"

"I don't want your money."

She motioned toward the bleeding scratches on his arms. "You're hurt. Your head has been bleeding. I'll… I'll help you."

"First aid?" He made a scoffing sound. "I don't think so."

"Then what… what do you want?"

"Your cooperation."

"With what?"

"Put your hands behind your back."

"Why?"

He took a couple of measured steps toward her.

She backed away. "Listen." She licked her lips. "You don't want to do this."

"Put your hands behind your back," he repeated, softly but with emphasis on each word.

"Please." The word was spoken on a sob. "My little girl—"

"I'm not going to ask you again." He took another step closer.

She backed away and came up against the wall behind her.

One last step brought him to within inches of her. "Do it."

Her instinct was to fight him, to scratch and claw and kick in an effort to prevent, or at least to delay, what seemed to be the inevitable. But because she feared Maria's fate if she didn't comply with him, she did as ordered and clasped her hands together at the small of her back, sandwiching them between her and the wall.

He leaned in close. She turned her head aside, but he placed his hand beneath her chin and brought it back around.

Speaking in a whisper, he said, "You see how easy it would be for me to hurt you?"

She looked into his eyes and nodded numbly.

"Well, I won't hurt you. I promise not to hurt you or your kid. But you gotta do everything I say. Okay? Have we got a deal?"

She might have derived some level of comfort from the promise, even if she didn't believe it. But she suddenly realized who he was, and that sent a bolt of terror through her.

Breathlessly, she rasped, "You're… You're the man who shot all those people last night."


	6. 6: Sonic World

**Chapter 6: Sonic World**

Sonic was intrigued as he read the first chapter of Shadow's book. The way he wrote and the detail he added was quite mesmerizing. And the story itself was interesting.

Who was this man?

What did he want with Azul?

Where was Azul's husband?

And what secret was she trying to hide about selling the boat?

He wanted to find out. He wanted to keep reading, but he's already invaded Shadow's private work enough. So, with a heavy heart, he closed the book and gingerly placed it back in the box, placing the receipt over it and sealing it with the tape again. He placed it onto Shadow's desk and inspected it.

Like it was never touched.

Sighing, the blue hedgehog went downstairs and started making himself some dinner. As he was in the middle of cooking, he heard a meow from outside.

"Wilfred!" He gasped in delight and turned the burner off, quickly grabbing the collar and rushing outside.

**...**

Sonic paced back and forth nervously in the waiting room of the vet's office, hoping that Wilfred was ok.

When the blue hedgehog had went outside to see if he could put the cat's new collar on, he was horrified to see that the poor thing's eye was scratched and bleeding.

Sonic had wasted no time as he ran back into the house and grabbed the cat carrier, swiftly putting Wilfred inside without a fight and rushing to the vet. As soon as the veterinarian saw Wilfred's condition, he took him in immediately.

Now all the blue hedgehog could do was wait for the results, though as impatient as he is, he was having a hard time waiting.

What if Wilfred was seriously hurt?

What if he needed to be put down?

How would he tell Rouge? Or worse, Shadow?

Suddenly, the door to the back opened and the veterinarian walked out. Sonic immediately went up to him, hoping for good news.

"How is he, doctor?"

"You're very lucky. Wilfred is doing just fine. What I assume is that he got into a fight with another cat and that's how he lost his eye, but I was able to clean it up and remove it of puss and bacteria."

Sonic sighed in relief. Wilfred was fine.

"There's just one thing."

Spoke too soon.

"What is it?" Sonic asked nervously.

"I'm afraid Wilfred's eye has been damaged to beyond repair. If he were to keep his eye, it very well may get infected again."

"So what's the solution?"

"The only solution I'm afraid is surgical procedure to remove the eye permanently. He'll be blind on the right side for the rest of his days."

Sonic's whole world was spinning so much he had to sit down. Poor little Wilfred was about to lose one of his eyes. He sighed, knowing that if he didn't do this, the only other option would be to put him down.

"Alright, if that's the best solution you have." He nodded. "I'll pay for the procedure. And could you give him his shots as well? I'll pay for those too."

"Absolutely." The vet nodded. "After the procedure is finished, I'd like to keep him overnight to monitor him and make sure that no other complications come up."

"Overnight?"

"Yes. You're welcome to pick him up in the morning, but if something else does come up, I will contact you of it."

"... Alright." Sonic sighed as he stood up. "I guess I'll just head back home then and hope for the best."

"That would be wise." The vet nodded. "And don't worry, Wilfred is in good hands."

"Thank you doctor." Sonic nodded. And with that, with a heavy heart, Sonic left the vet clinic and ran back to the Dark house.

**...**

Sonic laid in Shadow's bed, twitching nervously.

He couldn't stop thinking about Wilfred, extremely worried about him.

What would he tell Shadow? It was his job to take care of him, and now he was under surgery.

He sighed. He really shouldn't blame himself. It's not like he told Wilfred to get into a fight with another cat.

He sat up. He needed a distraction.

Immediately, his attention went over to the package with Shadow's book in it.

He wanted to read more, but he's already messed with it so much. But he also needed a good distraction, and with his unanswered questions, LETHAL seemed to be his only choice.

Before he knew it, Sonic had opened the box again and was on Shadow's bed, opening the book to the second chapter.


	7. 7: Lethal: 2

**Chapter 7: Lethal, Part 2**

"Umbra. U-m-b-r-a. Last name Kintobor, no known middle initial."

Sergeant Shade Douglass of the Tambour Police Department removed his hat and wiped sweat off his forehead. It had already gone greasy in the heat, and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. Mentally he cursed the heat index of coastal Louisiana. He'd lived here all his life, but one never got used to the sultry heat, and the older he got the more he minded it. He was in a cell phone conversation with the sheriff of neighboring Terrebonne Parish, giving him the lowdown of last night's mass murder.

"Chances are that's an alias, but it's the name on his employee records and all that we have to go on at present. We lifted prints off his car… Yeah, that's the damnedest thing. You'd think he would've sped away from the scene, but his car is still parked in the employee lot. Maybe he thought it would be spotted too easily. Or, I guess if you go and kill seven people in cold blood, you're not thinking logically. Best we can tell, he fled the scene on foot." Shade paused to take a breath. "I've already put his prints into the national pipeline. I'm betting something will turn up. A guy like this has gotta have priors. Whatever we get on him will be passed along, but I'm not waiting on further info, so you shouldn't either. Start looking for him A.S.A.P. You got my fax?… Good. Make copies and pass them out to your deputies for distribution."

While the sheriff was assuring Shade of his department's capacity for finding men at large, Shade nodded a greeting to his brother, Scorch, who joined him where he was standing outside his patrol car. It was parked on the shoulder of the two-lane state highway in a sliver of shade cast by a billboard sign advertising a gentleman's club that was located near the New Orleans airport. Sixty-five miles to the exit. The coldest drinks. The hottest women. Totally nude.

All sounded good to Shade, but he forecast that it would be a while before he could seek entertainment. Not until Umbra Kintobor was accounted for.

"You heard right, Sheriff. Bloodiest crime scene I've ever had the misfortune of investigating. Full-scale execution. Julius Marset was shot in the back of the head at close range." The sheriff expressed his disgust over the viciousness of the crime, then signed off with his pledge to be in touch if the murderous psycho was spotted in his parish.

"Windbag could talk the horns off a billy goat," Shade complained to his brother as he disconnected.

Scorch extended him a Styrofoam cup. "You look like you could use a coffee."

"No time."

"Take time."

Impatiently Shade removed the lid from the cup and took a sip. His head jerked back in surprise. Scorch laughed. "Thought you could use a little pick-me-up, too."

"We ain't brothers for nothing. Thanks."

As Shade drank the liberally spiked coffee, he surveyed the line of patrol cars parked along the edge of the road. Dozens of uniformed officers from various agencies were milling around nearby, some talking on cell phones, others studying maps, most looking befuddled and intimidated by the job at hand.

"What a mess," Scorch said under his breath.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"As city manager, I came out to offer any help that I or the City of Tambour can provide."

"As lead investigator on the case, I appreciate the city's support," Shade said drolly. "Now that the official bullshit is out of the way, tell me where you think he ran to."

"You're the cop, not me."

"But you're the best tracker for miles around."

"Since League was killed, maybe."

"Well, League ain't here, so you're it. You're part bloodhound, too. You could find a flea on a pissant."

"Yeah, but fleas ain't as slippery as this guy."

Scorch had arrived dressed not as a city official, but as a hunter, fully expecting that his brother would recruit him to join the manhunt. He took off his dozer cap and fanned his face with it as he gazed toward the edge of the woods where those involved in the search were gathering.

"That slipperiness of his has got me worried." Shade would admit that only to his brother. "We gotta catch this son of a bitch, Scorch."

"Like right effing now."

Shade chugged the rest of his bourbon-laced coffee and tossed the empty cup onto the driver's seat of his car. "You ready?"

"If you're waiting on me, you're backing up."

The two joined the rest of the search party. As its appointed organizer, Shade gave the command. Officers fanned out and began picking their way through the tall grass toward the tree line that demarcated the dense forest. Trainers unleashed their search dogs. They were commencing the search here because a motorist who'd been changing a flat on the side of the road late last night had seen a black hedgehog running into the woods. He hadn't thought anything about it until the mass slaying at the Royale Trucking Company warehouse was reported on the local news this morning. The estimated time of the shooting had roughly corresponded with the time he'd seen an individual—whom he couldn't describe because he'd been too far away—disappearing into the woods on foot and in a hurry. He'd called the Tambour Police Department.

It wasn't much for Shade and the others to go on, but since they didn't have any other leads, here they were, trying to pick up a trail that would lead them to the alleged mass murderer, one Umbra Kintobor.

Scorch kept his head down, studying the ground. "Is Umbra familiar with this territory?"

"Don't know. Could know it as good as he knows the back of his hand, or could be he's never even seen a swamp."

"Let's hope."

"His employee application said his residence before Tambour was Orange, Texas. But I checked the address and it's bogus."

"So nobody knows for sure where he came from."

"Nobody to ask," Shade said dryly. "His coworkers on the loading dock are dead."

"But he's been in Tambour for thirteen months. He had to know somebody."

"Nobody's come forward."

"Nobody would, though, would they?"

"Guess not. After last night, who'd want to claim him as a friend?"

"Bartender? Waitress? Somebody he traded with?"

"Officers are canvassing. A checker at Rouse's who'd rung up his groceries a few times said he was pleasant enough, but definitely not a friendly sort. Said he always paid in cash. We ran his Social Security number through. No credit cards came up, no debts. No account in any town bank. He cashed his paychecks at one of those places that do that for a percentage."

"The man didn't want to leave a paper trail."

"And he didn't."

Scorch asked if Umbra's neighbors had been interviewed.

"By me personally," Shade replied. "Everybody in the apartment complex knew him by sight. Women thought he was attractive in that certain kind of way."

"What certain kind of way?"

"Wished they could fuck him, but considered him bad news."

"That's a 'way'?"

"Of course that's a 'way.' "

"Who told you that?"

"It's just something I know." He nudged his green brother in the ribs. " 'Course I understand women better than you do."

"Piss up my other leg."

They shared a chuckle, then Shade turned serious again. "Men I talked to said they knew better than to mess with Umbra, which wasn't a problem, because he came and went without even a nod for anybody."

"Girlfriends?"

"None that anybody knew of."

"Boyfriends?"

"None that anybody knew of."

"You search his apartment?"

"Thoroughly. It's a one-room efficiency on the east side of town, and not a damn thing in it to give us a clue. Work clothes in the closet. Chicken pot pies in the freezer. The man lived like a monk. One thumbed copy of Sports Illustrated on the coffee table. A TV, but no cable hookup. Nothing personal in the whole damn place. No notepad, calendar, address book. Zilch."

"Computer?"

"No."

"What about his phone?"

Shade had found a cell phone at the murder scene and had determined that it didn't belong to any of the bullet-riddled bodies.

"Recent calls, one to that lousy Chinese food place that delivers in town, and one came in to him from a telemarketer."

"That's it? Two calls?"

"In thirty-six hours."

"Well, damn." Scorch swatted at a biting fly.

"We're checking out the other calls in his log. See who the numbers belong to. But right now, we know nothing about Umbra Kintobor except that he's out here somewhere, and that we're gonna catch shit if we don't find him." Lowering his voice, the dark hedgehog added, "And I'd just as soon return him in a body bag as in handcuffs. Best thing for us? We'd find his lifeless body floating in a bayou."

"Townsfolk wouldn't complain. Marset was highly thought of. Practically the freaking prince of Tambour."

Julius Marset had been the owner of the Royale Trucking Company, president of the Rotary Club, an elder at St. Boniface Catholic Church, an Eagle Scout, a Mason. He had chaired various boards and was usually grand marshal of the town's Mardi Gras parade. He had been a pillar of the community whom folks had admired and liked.

He was now a corpse with a bullet hole in his head, and, as if that one hadn't been enough to kill him, another had been fired into his chest for extra measure. The other six shooting victims probably wouldn't be missed much, but Marset's murder had warranted a televised press conference earlier that

morning. It had been covered by numerous community newspapers from the coastal region of the state, and all of the major New Orleans television stations were represented.

Shade had presided, flanked at the microphone by city officials, including his brother. The New Orleans P.D. had loaned Tambour police a sketch artist, who'd rendered a drawing of Umbra based on descriptions provided by neighbors: red and black male hedgehog around three feet three inches tall, average weight, athletic build, upturned quills, red eyes, thirty-four years of age according to his employee records.

Shade had concluded the press conference by filling television screens with the drawing and warning locals that Umbra was believed still to be in the area and should be considered armed and dangerous.

"You laid it on pretty thick," Scorch said now, referring to Shade's closing remarks. "No matter how slippery Umbra Kintobor is, everybody's going to be after his hide. I don'tthink he has a prayer of escaping the area."

Shade looked at his brother and raised one eyebrow. "You mean that honestly, or is that wishful thinking?"

Before Scorch could reply, Shade's cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and smiled across at his brother. "Spike Furry. FBI to the rescue."


	8. 8: Lethal: 3

**Chapter 8: Lethal, Part 3**

Umbra gradually backed away from the woman, but even then, her fear of him was palpable. Good. He needed her to be afraid. Fear would inspire cooperation.

"They're searching for you," she said.

"Behind every tree."

"Police, state troopers, volunteers. Dogs."

"I heard them yelping early this morning."

"They'll catch you."

"They haven't yet."

"You should keep running."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Mrs. Spinner?"

Her expression became even more stark with fear, so the significance of his knowing her name hadn't escaped her. He hadn't randomly selected her house in which to take refuge. It—she—had been a destination.

"Mommy, the kitty went into the bushes and won't come out."

Umbra's back was to the door, but he'd heard the little girl come in from outside, had heard the soles of her sandals slapping against the hardwood floor as she approached the kitchen. But he didn't turn toward her. His gaze remained fixed on the kid's mother.

Her face had turned as white as chalk. Her lips looked practically bloodless as her eyes sawed back and forth between him and the kid. But Umbra gave her credit for keeping her voice light and cheerful. "That's what kitties do, Mary. They hide."

"How come?"

"The kitty doesn't know you, so maybe he's afraid."

"That's silly."

"Yes, it is. Very silly." She shifted her gaze back to Umbra and added meaningfully, "He should know you won't do anything."

Okay, he wasn't dense. He got the message.

"If you do," he said softly, "he'll scratch, and it will hurt." Holding her frightened stare, he slid the pistol into the waistband of his jeans and tugged the hem of his T-shirt over it, then

turned around. The kid was staring up at him with blatant curiosity.

"Does your boo-boo hurt?"

"My what?"

She pointed to his head. He reached up and touched congealed blood. "No, it doesn't hurt."

He stepped around her as he crossed to the table. Ever since coming into the kitchen, his mouth had been watering from the aroma of freshly baked cake. He stripped away the paper cup of a cupcake and bit off half of it, then ravenously crammed the rest of it into his mouth and reached for another. He hadn't eaten since noon yesterday, and he'd been slogging through the swamp all night. He was starving.

"You didn't wash," the kid said.

He swallowed the cupcake practically whole. "What?"

"You're supposed to wash your hands before you eat."

"Oh yeah?" He peeled the paper off the second cupcake and took a huge bite.

The kid nodded solemnly. "It's the rule."

He shot a look at the woman, who had moved up behind her daughter and placed protective hands on her shoulders. "I don't always go by the rules," he said. Keeping an eye on them, he went to the fridge, opened it, and took out a plastic bottle of milk. He thumbed off the cap and tilted the bottle toward his mouth, drinking from it in gulps.

"Mommy, he's drinking from—"

"I know, darling. But it's okay just this once. He's very thirsty."

The kid watched in fascination as he drank at least a third of the milk before stopping to take a breath. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and replaced the bottle in the fridge.

The kid wrinkled her nose. "Your clothes are dirty and stinky."

"I fell in the creek."

Her eyes widened. "On accident?"

"Sorta."

"Did you have wings on?"

"Wings?"

"Can you do a face float?"

Clueless, he looked at the mother. She said, "She learned to do a face float in swim class."

"I still have to wear my wings," the little girl said, "but I got a gold star on my fertisicate."

Nervously, the mother turned her around and ushered her toward the doorway into the living room. "I think it's time for Dora. Why don't you go watch while I talk to… to our company."

The child dug her heels in. "You said I could lick the bowl."

The mother hesitated, then took a rubber spatula from the bowl of frosting and handed it down to her. She took it happily and said to him, "Don't eat any more cupcakes. There s'pposed to be for the birthday party." Then she skipped out of the room.

The woman turned to him, but said nothing until they heard the voice track of the TV show come on. Then, "How do you know my name?"

"You're League Spinner's widow, right?" She merely stared at him. "It's not that tough a question. Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"So, unless you've remarried…"

She shook her head.

"Then it stands to reason your name is Mrs. Spinner. What's your first name?"

"Azul."

Azul? He'd never known anybody by that name. But then this was Louisiana. People had strange names, first and last. "Well, Azul, I don't have to introduce myself, do I?"

"They said your name is Ember Kintobor."

"Umbra. Pleased to meet you. Sit down." He indicated a chair at the kitchen table. She hesitated, then pulled the chair from beneath the table and slowly lowered herself into it.

He worked a cell phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and punched in a number, then hooked a chair leg with the toe of his boot and sat down across the table from her. He stared at her as he listened to the telephone on the other end ring. She fidgeted in her seat. She clasped her hands together in her lap and looked away from him, then, almost defiantly, brought her gaze back to his

and held it. She was scared half to death but trying not to show it. The lady had backbone, which was okay by him. He would much rather deal with a little moxie than bawling and begging.

When his call was answered by an automated voice mail recording, he swore beneath his breath, then waited for the ding and said, "You know who this is. All hell's broke loose."

As soon as he clicked off, she said, "You have an accomplice?"

"You could say."

"Was he there during the… the shooting?"

He merely looked at her.

She wet her lips, pulled the lower one between her teeth. "They said on the news that seven people were killed."

"That's how many I counted."

She crossed her arms over her middle and hugged her elbows. "Why did you kill them?"

"What are they saying on TV?"

"That you were a disgruntled employee."

He shrugged. "You could call me disgruntled."

"You didn't like the trucking company?"

"No. Especially the boss."

"Julius Marset. But the others were just shift workers, like you. Was it necessary to shoot them, too?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"They were witnesses."

His candor seemed to astonish and repel her. He watched a shudder pass through her. For a time, she remained quiet, simply staring at the tabletop. Then slowly she raised her head and looked up at him. "How did you know my husband?"

"Actually I never had the pleasure. But I've heard about him."

"From whom?"

"Around Royale Trucking, his name pops up a lot."

"He was born and raised in Tambour. Everybody knew League and loved him."

"You sure about that?"

Taken aback, she said, "Yes, I'm sure."

"Among other things, he was a cop, right?"

"What do you mean by 'among other things'?"

"Your husband, the late, great League the cop, was in possession of something extremely valuable. I came here to get it."

Before she could respond, the cell phone still in his pocket, hers, rang, startling them both. Umbra pulled it from his pocket. "Who's Flame?"

"My father-in-law."

"Grandpa," he said, thinking back to what the kid had said out in the yard.

"If I don't answer—"

"Forget it." He waited until the ringing stopped, then nodded toward the cupcakes. "Whose birthday is it?"

"Flame's. He's coming for dinner to celebrate."

"What time? And I don't advise you to lie to me."

"Five-thirty."

He glanced at the wall clock. That was almost eight hours from now. He hoped to have what he was after and be miles away from here by then. A lot depended on League Spinner's widow and how much she knew about her late husband's extracurricular activities. He could tell her fear of him was genuine. But her fear could be based on any number of reasons, one of them being that she wanted to protect what she had and was afraid of him taking it away from her. Or she could be entirely innocent and afraid only of the danger he posed to her and her kid.

Apparently they lived alone out here in the boondocks. There hadn't been a trace of a man in the house. So when a bloodstained stranger showed up and threatened the isolated widow with a pistol, she would naturally be afraid.

Although living singly didn't necessarily equate to virtue, Umbra thought, reminding himself that he lived alone. Looks could be deceiving, too. She looked innocent enough, especially in the getup she was wearing. The white T-shirt, blue jean shorts, and retro white

Keds were as wholesome as home-baked cupcakes. Her blue quills were in a loose ponytail. Her eyes were an emerald green that shined in the light. She had the scrubbed appearance of the classic all-American girl next door, except that Umbra had never lived next door to anybody who looked as good as she did.

Seeing the skimpy undies on the drying rack in the laundry room had made him realize how long it had been since he'd lain down with a woman. Looking at the soft mounds underneath Azul Spinner's white T-shirt and her long, smooth legs made him aware of just how much he'd like to end that spell of abstinence.

She must have sensed the track of his thoughts, because when he lifted his gaze from her chest to her eyes, they were regarding him fearfully. Quickly she said, "You're in a lot of trouble, and you're only wasting time here. I can't help you. League didn't own anything extremely valuable." She raised her hands at her sides. "You can see for yourself how simply we live. When League died, I had to sell his fishing boat just to make ends meet until I could return to teaching."

"Teaching."

"Public school. Second grade. The only thing League left me was a modest life insurance policy that barely covered the cost of his funeral. He'd been with the police department only eight years, so the pension I receive each month isn't much. It goes directly into Maria's college fund. I support us on my salary, and there's little left for extras." She paused to take a breath. "You've been misinformed, Mr. Kintobor. Or you jumped to the wrong conclusion based on rumor. League had nothing valuable and neither do I. If I did, I would gladly hand it over to you in order to protect Maria. I value her life more than anything I could ever own."

He looked at her thoughtfully for several moments. "Nicely put, but I'm not convinced." He stood up and reached for her, encircling her biceps again and hauling her up out of her chair. "Let's start in the bedroom."


	9. 9: Lethal: 4

**Chapter 9: Lethal, Part 4**

His street name was Light.

That's all he'd ever been called, and, as far as he knew, that was the only name he had. His earliest memory was of a skinny black hedgehog woman asking him to fetch her cigarettes, or her syringe, and then hurling abuse at him if he was too slow about it.

He didn't know if she was his mother or not. She didn't claim to be, but didn't deny it the one time he'd asked her. He wasn't black, he was yellow. His name was japanese, but that didn't necessarily signify his heritage. In a city of Creoles where mixed bloodlines were historical and commonplace, he was a mongrel.

The woman of his memory had operated a hair-braiding salon. The business was open only when she felt like it, which was seldom. If she needed quick cash, she gave blowjobs in the back room. When Light was old enough, she sent him out to solicit clients off the streets. He lured in women with the promise of getting the tightest braids in New Orleans. To men, he hinted of other pleasures to be found beyond the glass bead curtain that separated the establishment from the gritty sidewalk.

One day he came in after scrounging for something to eat and found the woman dead on the floor of the filthy bathroom. He stayed until the stink of her got to be too much even for him, then he abandoned the place, leaving her bloated corpse to become somebody else's problem. From that day on, he had fended for himself. His turf was an area of New Orleans where even angels feared to tread.

He was seventeen years old and wise beyond his years. His eyes showed it as he looked at the readout on his vibrating cell phone. Private caller. Which translated to The Bookkeeper. He answered with a surly, "Yeah?"

"You sound upset, Light."

Pissed, more like it. "You should have used me to take care of Marset. But you didn't. Now look at the mess you've got."

"So you've heard about the warehouse and Umbra Kintobor?"

"I got a TV. Flat-screen."

"Thanks to me."

Light let that pass without comment. The Bookkeeper didn't need to know that their working relationship wasn't exclusive. He did occasional jobs for other clients.

"Guns," he said scornfully. "They're noisy. Why shoot up the place? I would have taken out Marset silently, and you wouldn't have a circus going on down there in Tambour."

"I needed to send a message."

Don't fuck with me, or else. That was the message. Light supposed that anyone who'd crossed The Bookkeeper, and had heard about the mass murder, was looking over his shoulder this morning. Despite the amateurish handling of Marset's execution, no doubt it had been an effective wake-up call.

"They haven't found Umbra Kintobor yet," Light said, almost as a gibe.

"No. I'm closely monitoring the search. I hope they find him dead, but if not, he'll have to be taken out. And so will anyone he's had contact with since leaving that warehouse."

"That's why you're calling me."

"It will be tricky to get close to someone in police custody."

"I specialize in tricky. I can get close. I always do."

"Which is why you're the man for this job, should it become necessary. Your skills would have been wasted on Marset. I needed to make noise and leave a lot of blood. But now that it's done, I want no loose ends."

No loose ends. No mercy. The Bookkeeper's mantra. Anybody who shied away from the wet work usually became the next victim.

A few weeks earlier, a Mexican kid had escaped the overloaded truck that was smuggling him into the States. He and a dozen others were destined for slavery of one type or another. The kid must've known what the future held for him. During a refueling stop, while the truck driver was paying for his gasoline, the kid got away.

Fortunately, a state trooper who was on The Bookkeeper's payroll had found him hitchhiking on the westbound lane of the interstate. The trooper had hidden him and had been ordered to dispose of the problem. But he'd turned squeamish.

The Bookkeeper had contracted Light to go in and do his dirty work for him. Then, a week after Light killed the boy, The Bookkeeper hired him to take care of the driver whose carelessness had allowed the kid to escape, along with the trooper who had shown himself to be greedy but gutless.

No loose ends. No mercy. The Bookkeeper's uncompromising policy instilled fear and inspired obedience. But Light wasn't scared of anybody. So when The Bookkeeper asked him now, "Did you find the girl who got away from the massage parlor?" he replied in a flippant manner, "Last night."

"She's no longer a problem?"

"Only to the angels. Or the devil."

"The body?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"Light, the only thing more annoying than an idiot is a smart-ass."

Light raised his middle finger at the phone.

"Someone else is calling in, so I must go. Be ready."

Light slid his hand into his pants pocket and fondled the straight razor for which he was famous. Although The Bookkeeper had already disconnected, Light said, "I stay ready."

**A/N: Three new chapters in one sitting. ;) Merry Christmas!**


	10. 10: Sonic World

**Chapter 10: Sonic World**

"Mmm." Sonic mumbled as he slowly started to wake up, the light from outside shining through a crack in the blackout curtains, hitting his face just right. He sat up and yawned, looking around his surroundings. He didn't remember falling asleep last night, and yet, here he was, in Shadow's room on Shadow's bed, waking up in the morning.

What had he been doing last night? He tried to remember.

He remembered making dinner last night… and then hearing Wilfred outside.

Yes, that's it. Wilfred. He was hurt and Sonic had taken him to the vet. He remembered the veterinarian saying that Wilfred will need surgery to get his eye removed. He remembered that the cat would have to stay overnight.

What came after that?

Oh yeah, that's right. He was overwhelmed with worry and was trying to distract himself. Distract himself… with…

Oh no.

Sonic gasped and looked around his general area, trying to find Shadow's book. He looked over the side of the bed and squeaked in despair when he saw the book on the floor, open face down in a way where the pages were crinkled and bent, and there was a slight rip in the corner of the cover where it must've hit the floor.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no." The blue hedgehog said repeatedly in a panic as he picked up the book from the floor and tried to fix it, smoothing out the creases in the pages and trying to cover up the tear in the corner, but no matter how much he tried, it was obvious that someone had tampered with Shadow's work. "No, no, no, no, no!" He cried, pulling on his quills in distress. "Ah, Shadow's gonna kill me! What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?!"

Suddenly, the house phone started to ring, making Sonic nearly jump out of his fur. Nervous, he ran downstairs, into the kitchen, and picked up the phone off the wall. "H-hello?"

"_Sonic? It's Shadow._"

Suddenly, Sonic's whole world seemed to zoom out into darkness, like a movie. It was just him, the phone, and Shadow's voice on the other side. He tried to remain calm. "Oh, hey Shads! Wasn't expecting a call from you!" Nailed it.

"_Rrright. Anyway, I'm calling in just to check on things. Seeing as you answered the phone I'm assuming the house is still standing?_"

"Yep. Sure is Shads."

"_Everything is still in order and clean?_"

"Like a monk's house." He slapped a hand over his mouth. Better not to reference anything from the book.

"... _Right. And Wilfred? Has he come around?_"

"Um… yyeah…" Sonic said, a little bit of guilt coming from his voice, which did not go unnoticed by Shadow's keen senses.

"_Faker… what happened to Wilfred?_"

A few tears came to Sonic's eyes, knowing he'd have to explain to Shadow what has happened to his kitty. "Well… Shadow… I'm so sorry…" He tried to remain calm as he explained to his rival and crush about Wilfred's fight and the surgery he had to go under to remove his eye. The whole time, Shadow was silent until the very end.

"_I see_."

"Shadow I'm so sorry." Sonic gasped, a few tears rolling down his face. "I should've kept a better eye on him. I'm so sorry."

"_Hey, hey. It's ok. It's not your fault._" Shadow's voice sounded genuinely concern and understanding over the phone.

"It's not?" Sonic said, a little shocked.

"_No, of course not. Cats fight, Sonic, and sometimes they get hurt in the process. These things happen, Sonic. What matters now is that he's alright. I'd rather him be blind on one side than have him be put down. You made the right decision and… I'm proud of you for that_."

Sonic's heart started to flutter and he smiled, wiping his tears away. "Thank you, Shadow."

"_You're welcome, Sonic. Now one more question_."

"Ask away."

"_Did my package come in?_"

Once again, Sonic felt his world come crashing down. He froze on the spot, shaking in his fur.

What was he supposed to tell him?

His package had come in, but the book had the obvious signs of being tampered with.

He didn't want to tell him the truth, knowing he will be angry with him, and just after he said he was proud of Sonic.

The blue hedgehog shook his head.

No. He won't lie to Shadow like that. Honesty is the best policy. Besides, Shadow would appreciate the truth more… Right?

"Nope, hasn't come in yet."

……….. Well shit.

"_Huh, that's odd. Because I got an email saying that my package has been delivered._"

"That is odd, considering it still hasn't shown up." Sonic nodded. '_Stop lying to him!_'

"_You're not lying to me, are you hedgehog?_" Shadow's voice sounded suspicious. "_You haven't opened it, have you?!_"

"No Shadow. I swear it hasn't come in yet." '_STOP IT!_' "Maybe it got sent to the wrong address?" '_You're making it worse!_'

"_Chaos I hope not! I don't want anyone seeing that yet!_"

"Well I'm sorry Shadow. I don't have it, whatever it is." '_He'll never trust you again!_'

"_Dammit!_" Shadow sighed. "_Alright, thanks for letting me know. I'll have to talk to the post office later when we come back_."

"When is that anyway?"

"_We'll be back on Thursday. Can you manage until then?_"

"Of course, Shadow. You can count on me." '_No he can't._'

"_Thanks. Talk to you when we get back_."

"Bye Shadow."

And with that, the two hedgehogs hung up.

Sonic put the phone back on the receiver and screamed at the top of his lungs.

What was he going to do now?


	11. 11: Sonic World

**Chapter 11: Sonic World**

Sonic sat in the waiting room of the vet clinic, his leg shaking nervously as he waited for the veterinarian to come back out with Wilfred.

When he had arrived earlier, he was told that Wilfred had undergone the procedure well and was healing even better. There were no complications, and the little kitty was ready to go home just after he was finished getting the rest of his shots. Sonic had already paid for everything and was now just anxiously waiting, feeling his impatience creeping up.

He tried to distract himself on how he could keep his lie up with Shadow.

He couldn't let the ebony know that he had open his book and then lied about it.

Speaking about the book, the blue hedgehog had it with him, still trying to fix it to make it look like it never left the box, but the rip in the corner made it impossible.

As he tried brushing at the rip again, he lost his grip and dropped the book, making it land open faced down on the floor, bending the pages again.

"Dammit." He hissed under his breath as he picked up the book again.

When he turned it around to fix the pages again, he stopped.

The book had opened up to the next chapter, and something about the first sentence intrigued him. Most likely because it was going back to Umbra and Azul. This got him curious again.

What exactly is Umbra looking for?

What was League hiding before he died?

And how is Azul gonna get out of this situation with her and Maria still alive?

With these questions spilling in his head, and needing to wait a little longer for Wilfred, Sonic started to read once more.


	12. 12: Lethal: 5

**Chapter 12: Lethal: Part 5**

Engrossed in her program, Maria gave Azul and Umbra no notice as they passed through the living room.

When they reached Azul's bedroom, she jerked her arm free from his grip and rubbed her bruised biceps. "I don't want to get shot, and I certainly wouldn't risk Maria's life or run away and leave her behind. The manhandling is unnecessary."

"That's for me to decide." He nodded toward the computer on the writing desk. "Was that your husband's computer?"

"We both used it."

"Boot it up."

"There's nothing on it except my personal emails, school records of my students, and lesson plans for each month."

He just stood there, looking dark and dangerous, until she went to the desk and sat down. It seemed to take an eternity for the computer to boot. She stared into the monitor, looking at the blurred reflection of herself, but all the while aware of him, standing close, emanating odors of the swamp, his body heat, and a distinct threat of violence.

From the corner of her eye, she looked at his hand. It was relaxed, resting against his thigh. Even so, she knew it could squeeze the life from her body if he put it around her throat. The thought of it wrapped around Maria's sweet, soft neck made her ill.

"Thank you, Mr. Kintobor," she whispered.

Several seconds elapsed before he asked, "For what?"

"For not harming Maria."

He didn't say anything.

"And for keeping the pistol out of her sight. I appreciate that."

Another few seconds ticked past. "Nothing to be gained by scaring the kid." The computer asked for a password. Azul quickly typed hers in. It showed up as black dots in the box.

"Wait," he said before she could hit Enter. "Backspace and type it again. Slowly this time."

She pecked out the letters again.

"What does the r stand for?"

"Rosemary."

"A, r, Spinner. Not a very original password. Easy to guess."

"I've got nothing to hide."

"Let's see."

He reached over her shoulder and began maneuvering the mouse. He navigated through her emails, even those that had been deleted, and all her documents, which contained nothing that would interest him unless he was in second grade.

At one point, she asked politely, "Would you like to sit down?"

"I'm fine."

He might be, but she wasn't. He was leaning over her, occasionally making contact with her back and shoulder, his arm brushing hers as he scooted the mouse around.

Finally he was satisfied that the files he'd opened were useless to him.

"Did League have a password?"

"We used the same one, as well as the same email address."

"I didn't see any emails to or from him."

"They've all been deleted."

"Why?"

"They were taking up space on the computer."

He didn't say anything, but she felt a tug on her ponytail and realized that he was winding it around his fist. When he had a tight grip, he turned her head toward him. She closed her eyes, but she could feel the pressure of his gaze on the top of her head.

"Open your eyes."

Given her recent thoughts on the strength of his hands, she did as he ordered because she was afraid not to. She was on eye level with his waist. The proximity of her face to his body, and the intimacy it suggested, was disconcerting, as she supposed he intended. He wanted there to be no doubt as to who was in charge.

But perhaps she could turn this to her advantage. Her nose was inches from the outline of the pistol beneath his T-shirt. Her hands were free. Could she—

No. Even before she had finished formulating the thought, she cast it aside. League had taught her how to shoot a handgun, but she'd never been comfortable handling any firearm. She couldn't secure the pistol and fire it before Umbra knocked it aside or yanked it from her. Any attempt to do so would only anger him. And then what? She didn't hazard to guess.

Using her fisted ponytail as leverage, he tilted her head back until she was looking up into his face. "Why did you delete your husband's emails?"

"He's been gone for two years. Why would I keep them?"

"They could have had important information in them."

"They didn't."

"She says, sounding real sure about it."

"I am," she snapped. "League wouldn't have been so careless as to put important information in an email."

He held her stare as though gauging the strength of her argument. "Do you do your banking on this computer?"

"No."

"Pay any accounts?"

She shook her head as much as his hold on her quills would allow. "Neither of us used it for personal business."

"What about his work computer?"

"It belonged to the police department."

"It wasn't given to you?"

"No. I suppose another officer has use of it now."

He studied her face for another long moment, and must have determined that she was telling the truth. He released her quills and backed away. Relieved, she stood up and moved away from him and toward the door. "I'm just going to check on Maria."

"Stay where you are."

His eyes made a sweep of the room and did a double take when something on top of the dresser grabbed his attention. He crossed quickly to the bureau and picked up the picture frame, then thrust it into her hands.

"Who are these guys?"

"The oldest one is Flame."

"League's father? He's in awfully good shape for a man his age."

"He works at it. That's League standing next to him."

"The other two?"

"Shade and Scorch Douglass. League's best friends." Smiling over the fond memory, she ran her fingers across the glass sealing the photograph. "They'd gone on an overnight fishing trip into the Gulf. When they put in the following afternoon, they posed on the pier with their catch and asked me to take this picture."

"Is that the boat you sold?"

"No, that was Scorch's charter boat. Fiona took it. Now he's our city manager. Shade is a policeman."

He looked at her sharply, then tapped the dark hedgehog look-alike inside the frame. "This guy's a cop?"

"He and League enrolled in the police academy together and graduated in the same class of new officers. He—" She broke off and looked away from him, but he caught her chin and jerked her head back to him.

"What?" he demanded.

She saw no point in hedging. "Shade is spearheading the manhunt for you."

"How do you know?"

"He conducted a press conference this morning. He pledged your swift capture and justice for the seven men you killed. Allegedly."

He absorbed that, then released her chin and took the frame from her. To her consternation, he turned it over and began folding back the metal tabs so he could remove the easel back.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

He took it apart and, inside, found only what she knew he would: the photograph, a piece of stiff backing, and the glass. He stared hard at the photograph and checked the date printed on the back of it. "They seem like a real chummy quartet."

"The three boys became friends in grade school. Flame practically raised the Douglass boys along with League. They've been a great help to us since he died. They've been especially attentive to Maria and me."

"Yeah?" He gave her a slow once-over. "I'll bet they have."

She wanted to lash out at him for what his smirk insinuated. But she held her tongue, believing it was beneath her dignity to defend her morals to a man who was smeared with his victims' blood. She did, however, take the photograph from him and return it and the pieces of the frame back to the top of her bureau.

"How'd he die?" he asked. "League. What killed him?"

"Car accident."

"What happened?"

"It's believed he swerved to miss hitting an animal, something. He lost control and went headlong into a tree."

"He was by himself?"

"Yes." Again she looked wistfully at the photograph that had so perfectly captured her husband's smiling face. "He was on his way home from work."

"Where's his stuff?"

The question yanked her from the poignant reverie. "What?"

"His stuff. You're bound to have kept his personal belongings."

In light of their conversation, his wanting to go through League's effects was the height of insensitivity, and it offended her almost more than having been threatened with a pistol. She met his cold, unfeeling eyes head-on. "You're a cruel son of a bitch."

His eyes turned even more implacable. He took a step toward her. "I need to see his stuff. Either you hand it over to me, or I'll tear your house apart looking for it."

"Be my guest. But I'll be damned before I'll help you."

"Oh, I doubt that."

Catching his malevolent implication, her gaze swung beyond his shoulder toward the living room where Maria was still enjoying one of her favorite shows.

"Your kid is all right, Mrs. Spinner. She'll stay all right so long as you don't play games with me."

"I'm not playing games."

"So we understand each other, neither am I."

He spoke softly, malevolently, and his point was made. Furious with him, and with herself for having to capitulate without putting up more of a fight, she said coolly, "It would be helpful if you told me what you're looking for."

"It would be helpful if you quit jerking me around."

"I'm not!"

"Aren't you?"

"No! I have no idea what you want or even what you're talking about. Gold bars? Stock certificates? Precious stones? If I had something like that, don't you think I would have liquidated it by now?"

"Cash?"

"Do I look like I have a lot of cash at my disposal?"

"No. You don't. But you wouldn't make it obvious, because that would be stupid."

"Stupid in what way?"

"If you were suddenly flush with cash, people would be on to you."

"People? What people? On to me? I don't understand."

"I think you do."

During this heated exchange, he'd been coming ever closer until now they were toe to toe. His sheer physicality made her feel trapped. It was hard not to move away from him, but she refused to dance that dance again. Besides, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how effective his intimidation tactics were.

"Now, for the last time," he said, "where's League's stuff?"

She defied him with her glare, her upright posture, her sheer force of will. Telling him to go straight to hell was on the tip of her tongue.

But Maria giggled.

In her sweet, piping voice she addressed something to the characters on the program, then squealed in delight and clapped her hands.

Azul's bravado evaporated. She lowered her defiant chin, and rather than telling him to go to hell, she said, "There's a storage box under the bed."


	13. 13: Sonic World

**Chapter 13: Sonic World**

Sonic's ears drooped a bit as he read the chapter.

Poor Azul was all he could think of.

She was just a struggling mother, trying her best to provide for her child after losing her husband.

She didn't deserve this.

Why was Umbra being so hard on her?

What was so important about League that he was trying to find?

Before the blue hedgehog could read more, the vet came out with Wilfred in the carrier.

"Alright Sonic, here he is." He said as Sonic stood up, closing the book and accepting the carrier. "He's all set and perfectly healthy." He reached into his pocket and handed him a box of medical cat treats. "Make sure he takes one of these everyday until they're all gone and then that should be it."

Sonic nodded and took the box. "Thank you, doctor. Shadow and I both really appreciate this."

"Not a problem. Just make sure he stays inside until he's fully healed."

"Thank you again, doctor." And with that, Sonic left the vet clinic, taking Wilfred back home to the Dark House.

Sonic sat on the couch and sighed. When he got back to the house, he had set the carrier down on the floor and opened the door, hoping that Wilfred would run out and start exploring. Well, that unfortunately hasn't happened. Instead, the fluffy Persian Chinchilla was still in the carrier, pressing himself into the back, too spooked to leave it. There was nothing much Sonic could do about this. All he could do was sit there and wait.

He also needed to think of a way to keep Shadow from finding out what happened to his book.

Shadow had said that he was gonna go to the post office when he came back. He said they would be back on Thursday. That was two more days from now. He had to think of something, quick.

"What am I gonna do?" He sighed, laying back on the couch. As he laid back, he caught sight of the book again, which was laying right next to him. He still had questions about it. Questions that it could only answer. He sighed again and picked it up. While he has no ideas he might as well try and find out what's going on with Umbra and Azul.


	14. 14: Lethal: 6

**Chapter 14: Lethal: Part 6**

It wasn't a long commute between Spike Furry's home and the FBI's field office in Lafayette. Often, he considered it not long enough. It was the only time of his day in which he could switch off and think of nothing more complicated than to stay in his lane and drive within the speed limit. He wheeled into his driveway and acknowledged that his house looked a

little tired and sad compared to others in the neighborhood. But when would he have time to do repairs or repaint when something as necessary as mowing the lawn was only done sporadically?

By the time he entered through the front door, those self-castigating thoughts had already been pushed aside by the urgency of the situation in Tambour.

Gem, having heard him come in, hurried into the entryway, cell phone in hand. "I was just about to call you to ask when you'd be home for lunch."

"I didn't come home to eat." He took off his suit jacket and hung it on the hall tree. "That multiple murder in Tambour—"

"It's all over the news. The guy hasn't been caught yet?"

He shook his head. "I've got to go down there myself."

"Why must you? You dispatched agents early this morning."

Royale Trucking Company conducted interstate trade. When the carnage was discovered inside the warehouse, Spike, as agent in charge of the field office, had been notified. "It's politic for me to review the situation in person. How's Tiki today?"

"Like she is any other day."

Spike pretended not to hear the bitterness underlying his wife's voice as he headed down the central hallway toward the room at the back of the house where their thirteen-year-old daughter was confined.

In fact, where he and Gem were also confined. Sadly, this room was at the epicenter of their lives, their marriage, their future.

An aberrant accident in the birth canal, and the sheer mystery of how a bat and an echidna could have a child together, had cut off their daughter's oxygen and left her with severe brain damage. She didn't speak, or walk, or even sit alone. Her responses to any stimuli were limited to blinking her eyes, but only on occasion, and to making a guttural sound, the meaning of which neither Spike nor Gem would ever be able to interpret. They had no way of knowing if she even recognized them by sight, or sound, or touch.

"She's soiled herself," Spike said upon entering the room and being hit with the odor.

"I checked her five minutes ago," Gem said defensively. "I changed the sheets on her bed this morning and—"

"That's a two-person job. You should have waited for me to help you."

"Well, that could have been a wait, couldn't it?"

Quietly Spike said, "I had to leave earlier than usual this morning, Gem. I had no choice."

She blew out a gust of air. "I know. I'm sorry. But after changing her bed, I had to do laundry. It's not even lunchtime, and I'm exhausted."

He stayed her as she moved toward the bed. "I'll take care of this."

"You're in a hurry to get away."

"Five minutes won't matter. Will you fix me a sandwich, please? I'll eat it on the way down to Tambour."

After seeing to Tiki, he went into their bedroom and changed out of his suit and into outdoor clothes. Before day's end, he would probably be called upon to join the manhunt. He had little or nothing to contribute to such an undertaking, but he would make the gesture of pitching in.

He dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt, and slipped on an old

pair of sneakers, reminding himself to check the trunk of his car for the rubber

boots he used to wear whenever he went fishing. He used to do a lot of things he no longer did. When he walked into the kitchen, Gem's back was to him. She was

preoccupied with making his sandwich so he studied her for several seconds

without her being aware of it.

She hadn't retained the prettiness that she'd had when they first met. The thirteen years since Tiki's birth had taken a visible toll. Her movements were no longer graceful and fluid, but efficient and brisk, as though if she didn't hurry up and accomplish the task at hand, she would lose the wherewithal to do it. The slender young body she'd boasted had been whittled away and now she could be described as gaunt. Work and worry had etched lines around her eyes, and the lips that had always been on the verge of smiling were perpetually drawn with disappointment.

Spike didn't blame her for these changes in her appearance. The changes in

him were just as disagreeable. Unhappiness and hopelessness were stamped indelibly onto their faces. Worse, the changes weren't only physical. Their

love for each other had been drastically altered by the ongoing tragedy that their life together had become. The love he felt for Gem now was based more on pity than passion.

When first married, they'd shared an interest in jazz, movies, and Tuscan

cooking. They'd planned to spend a summer in Italy attending cooking classes and drinking the regional vintages during sun-drenched afternoons. That was just one of their dreams that had been shattered. Every single day Spike asked himself how long they could go on in their

present state. Something must change. Spike knew it. He figured Gen did,

too. But neither wanted to be the first to wave a white flag on their commitment to their helpless daughter. Neither wanted to be the first to say, "I can't do this any longer," and suggest doing what they had pledged never to do, which was to place her in a special care facility.

The good ones were private and therefore costly. But the exorbitant expense was only one obstacle. Spike wasn't certain what Gem's reaction would be if he suggested they amend their original policy regarding Tiki's care. He was afraid she would talk him out of it. And equally afraid that she wouldn't.

Sensing his presence, she glanced over her shoulder. "Ham and cheese with brown mustard?"

"Fine."

She folded plastic wrap around the sandwich. "Do you plan to stay away

overnight?"

"I can't leave you alone with Tiki for that long."

"I would manage."

Spike shook his head. "I'll come back. Shade Douglass will share with me all

his case notes."

"You mean the oracle of the Tambour Police Department?" Her sarcasm made him smile. She'd known the Douglass twins from her last year of high school, when her father had decided to move "to the country" and had taken Gem out of the parochial academy in New Orleans and transferred her to the public school in Tambour. While the distance wasn't that far, the two environments had been worlds apart.

Gem had experienced a reeling culture shock and had never quite forgiven her parents for uprooting her during that all-important senior year and transplanting her in "Bubbaville." She considered everyone in Tambour a hick, starting with, and in particular, Shade Douglass and his brother, Scorch. It amazed her that one had become an officer of the law, the other a city official.

Even by Tambour's standards, the hedgehog brothers had exceeded her expectations of them.

"Everybody in Tambour wants the head of Julian Marset's killer on a pike, and they're breathing down Shade's collar to get it," Spike told her. "The coroner estimates time of death for all seven victims at around midnight, so Shade is"—he glanced at the clock on the microwave oven—"almost twelve hours into the investigation, and he doesn't have any substantial leads."

Gem winced. "The scene was described as a bloodbath."

"The photos my men sent back weren't pretty."

"What was the owner of the company doing in the warehouse at that time of night?"

"That struck Shade as odd, too. Mrs. Marset was of no help because she was

out of town. Shade's thinking is that maybe this Umbra created some kind of problem, got into a fight with a coworker, something serious enough for the foreman to call Marset. They'll check phone records, but a reason for Marset's being there at that unusual hour hasn't been established yet."

"Is Umbra Kintobor a habitual troublemaker?"

"His employment record didn't indicate that. But no one claims to know him well."

"I gathered that by Shade's press conference. Beyond a description and a

police artist sketch, they don't seem to have much."

"He put false information on his job application."

"They didn't check it out before they hired him?"

"An oversight I'm sure the human resources staff is regretting."

"Why did he lie on his application, I wonder. To hide a police record?"

"That was the general consensus. But so far his fingerprints haven't turned up any prior arrests." Gem frowned. "He's probably one of those wackos who slips through the cracks of society until he does something like this. Then everybody takes

notice. What I don't get is why these nutcases go after innocent people. If he

bore a grudge against the company, why didn't he just wreck one of the trucks? Why go on a killing spree?"

When Spike had first met Gem, she'd been a feeling, compassionate bat who often championed the underdog. Over the years her tolerance level had steeply declined.

"Apparently Umbra doesn't have the outward markings of a wacko," he

said.

"Wackos rarely do."

Spike conceded her point with a tip of his head. "Umbra had recently been placed in charge of shipping manifests. Maybe he cracked under the pressure of new responsibility."

"That's plausible." Her expression indicated that she knew something about cracking under pressure.

Spike took a canned drink from the fridge. "I'd better be off. Shade's waiting on me. If you need me, call. I've always got my cell phone."

"We'll be fine."

"I turned Tiki when I cleaned her, so you don't have to do that for a while."

"Don't worry about us, Spike. Go. Do your job. I'll handle things till you get home, whenever it is."

He hesitated, wishing he could think of something to say that would brighten her day, wishing there was something to say. But he knew there wasn't, so he trudged from his house with the overgrown lawn, feeling the burden of their lives weighing heavily on his shoulders because he didn't

know how to make it better.

He felt no more confident about improving the situation in Tambour.


End file.
